He Says Nothing
by Booknerd101
Summary: He no longer cares where he ends up, where they take him, or what happens to him, because no matter where he goes, He will always be able to find him. One-shot.


**A/N: Am I too late for the Avengers one-shot party? I brought cake...**

**So I wrote this one-shot on a concept that I don't think has been addressed by any story in the Avengers category so far: Loki was _threatened _by that Thanos fellow. Surely that influenced his actions somewhat, and judging by the fact that ultimately _he failed,_ it would probably have consequences, yes? **

**So this fic is exploring those consequences. It takes place after Shawarma and before Loki and Thor are transported back to Asgard. It mostly consists of Loki's innermost contemplation and a few conversations he has with different visitors.**

**_Warning: _This fic contains brief language on the part of Loki and Tony, because Loki does not give a flying about what you think about his language. It only happens once or twice, and even if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, it shouldn't be a problem. If it is, here's my apology.  
**

**I hope you enjoy this. **

**o.O.o**

He cuts his hair with the small vestiges of magic he still retains. There's no reason, no explanation he can give anyone who asks why. Really, it's the only aspect of himself that he currently controls. He has only small scraps of power, and he can't _go _anywhere, so why not? He never liked it long anyway.

If court life had ever taught him anything, it was that whenever you feel angry, or irritated, or scared, smile. Just smile, and never let anyone see what you're feeling. To wear your emotions on your sleeve is to be vulnerable, and to be vulnerable is to be dead. So he smiles.

_The cell is too small_. No Asgardian—or _Jotun, _fine—can ever stand to be in enclosed places. It is probably due to the aesthetics of the two realms, Asgard and Jotunheim; if they share one commonality, it is that they are very open, spacious, places. Midgard, to name one flaw, is full of too many enclosed places. And if they consider you a criminal, you get the privilege of becoming acquainted with a great many of them.

Fine; that was fine. He simply plasters a smile on his face and refuses to let them know he was…was… _Odin, _he can't even admit it to _himself._

_The cell is too small, _he tells himself, over and over, like a litany. He pretends that that is what he is… apprehensive of. Yes, apprehensive. A nice, weak, word that doesn't even cover the half of what he really feels.

The cell is what is making him anxious. Surely there is no other logical answer that would explain his fear. Odin, his fear—he _hates _that word, fear. Those who have fear are weak… and he is not weak.

They're talking about him, a helicarrier away. He can't hear them, obviously, but he knows they are—what else would they talk about? They'll be discussing where he will be taken. It's a farce, really. He knows very well Thor will push to take him back to Asgard, where he –believes—he belongs. But they'll discuss it all the same. That's all they do, discuss. Discuss and discuss and discuss. _Humans._

It doesn't matter to him where he goes. Because wherever he _does _go there will always be that naked sword over his head, following him everywhere, everywhere. Nothing to do with his captors, of course, he couldn't give a rat's ass about what they'll do to him. There's something else, something far, far, worse destined for him that he'll never be able to escape, no matter what miserable realm he ends up on.

_That's _why he's scared. And not just scared—he's terrified. But Jotunheim will dissolve in flames and waves will flood Asgard before he ever admits it to himself. Or anyone.

**o.O.o**

He gets visitors. Sometimes it's Fury, sometimes it's SHIELD agents, but usually it's the Avengers. He doesn't know why; maybe they like to gloat. Maybe they're bored. Odin knows _he _is.

His favorite visitor –in other words, the one that annoys him least- is Banner, a surprise to everyone. Banner never presses questions on him, never tries to drive an explanation out of him that he hasn't already given- he simply tries to make gentle conversation or share a random occurrence that Banner thinks he'll find interesting. And sometimes he does find it interesting, not that he'll ever admit it.

He, apparently, has a longstanding creed of never admitting anything, to anyone, ever.

"Stark is converting Stark Tower into the Avengers Tower," Banner says, during one such visit. He's not talking in hopes of getting a response; that dream died _weeks _ago. He suspects Banner comes in here to vent whatever is on his mind. He never responds- he usually just watches him, letting him talk. After all, the silence does get boring.

"He's converting a section in it into a lab for me." Banner sees the look on his face and laughs, as if realizing his mistake. He can see the thought on Banner's face: Like this psycho is going to find _that _interesting. Well, this psycho certainly doesn't.

This time Banner seems tired of the veritable brick wall he's trying to converse with. "Come on, Loki, throw me a bone here." Banner tries and fails to catch his eye. Not that it would have worked with anyone, really, let alone him; the man is terrible at eye contact. "If this was—wherever Thor said you guys were from. What would _you _talk about?"

Tedious—the man is actually trying to drag him into a conversation, now. "Oh, I don't know," he says, humoring him. "Hunting. Killing. Alcohol. Violence. Women. Food. Maybe, if you're particularly lucky, all of them at once."

Banner laughs. "Sounds like a typical guy conversation. Maybe it's not so different where you're from, huh?"

He doesn't humor him with a response.

Banner sighs and turns to leave, shutting the door quietly behind him. A seemingly inconsequential habit; Banner does not like to slam doors.

**o.O.o**

The distraction is nice, but once he is alone again the silence falls harder than ever. And his thoughts always seem to turn back to one thing: that naked sword. And he wishes more than anything that it was literal rather than a terribly apt metaphor. It would be less terrifying.

**o.O.o**

His other regular visitor is Natasha—the Black Widow. She, like Banner, doesn't seem inclined to push him into anything. More often than not she simply finds a chair and stares at him. And he stares right back. He likes this: it's less mind-bogglingly tedious than a sad attempt at conversation.

But not today. "What are you hiding?" Natasha says, bluntly. She does not like to cut corners, this one.

"Hiding?" he responds. "What on Earth would I be hiding?"

"You don't eat," Natasha begins to tick off on her fingers. "You don't look in mirrors—or try not to, you don't move sometimes for days on end—you're… what is the word…you're… _anxious._"

What an annoyingly observant woman. "I'm sorry," he sneers. "Is there some sort of behavior I'm expected to be exhibiting? Do you want me to crack jokes? Throw my food around the cell—_curse _at you all?"

Natasha shakes her head slowly. "You're defensive. Either you're snide and insulting, or you don't speak at all. Maybe that's how you always act…" she bit her lip, thinking for a moment. "Or you're afraid of something. Us?"

He barks out a laugh, and then restrains himself. "Afraid of _you _all? Now _you're _trying to crack jokes, my dear."

"Okay," she frowns. "Not of us, then. Of Thor?"

He raises an eyebrow, and says nothing.

"Right." Natasha scratches behind her ear. "Not Thor." She pauses, leans back in her chair, and contemplates the ceiling.

"You're all going to die." It just spills out, with no forethought on his part. Maybe she's right; he doesn't have anything to hide.

"_What?" _Natasha's eyes snap back onto his face. She, unlike Banner, has no qualms about eye contact. There's an incredulous expression on her face that warms some sick corner of his soul. "We're going to die? What, are you going to kill us?"

He smirks. "Me? No. Not me."

She rocks to her feet, and approaches his cell with quick, purposeful, strides. "Talk."

"He's coming." He says simply, completely unfazed. He's so terribly bored, and he's tired of keeping it all in. Why not throw them a bone?

"_Who?" _Natasha is practically apoplectic. "Who is coming? Your—your real father, your secret _protégé, _your—"

"Oh, Natasha," he says, relishing every word, every moment of confused fury on her face. "So naïve… did you really think I came up with an army, with a plan, all by myself?"

"You…" she pauses, letting it sink in. "You have a boss?"

"In simple human terms, yes: I have—well, had—a _boss_." He passes a hand across his face. "We had an arrangement, and I didn't hold up my end of the bargain, obviously. You see now?"

"Yes… no." Natasha sits back down. "Wait, yes. I get it—you failed, and now you think he's going to come after you."

"I don't _think." _The naked sword rocks gently to and fro.

"Oh," she stands up again. "Oh." She turns and leaves.

**o.O.o**

He sighs, and leans back on his cot. The camera in the corner blinks erratically, a harsh red color. He looks straight at it, and smiles. You must always smile; you can never let them know you're afraid. Vulnerable is dead.

**o.O.o**

After two hours, three minutes, and twenty seconds—he counted—she comes back, along with Fury and, surprisingly, Steve Rogers.

Fury cuts right to the chase. Goodness is everyone blunt in this place.

"Loki," he says. "Let's not play games. We know you've been less than cooperative up until now, but you have as good as admitted that something stronger than you is coming. You need to tell us what that is."

"I never said it was stronger than me," he drawls. A lie; his former employer is infinitely more powerful than he is, but hell if he would ever say that out loud. He does have a modicum of vanity to hold onto.

Fury stalks right up to the glass separating the two of them. "What. Is '_it'."_

He sits up and stares Fury right back in the eyes. Well, _eye. _"You'll probably live longer if you refer to _it _as _him._"

"Answer the question," Rogers cuts in, taking everyone by surprise. "If there's something—someone—coming that you think is dangerous, then tell us."

He switches his gaze to the younger man's open, honest, face. He is older than most of his peers, but still so very, very, young. He says nothing.

Natasha has her eyes fixed on his face, as if studying him. She speaks before Fury, losing his patience, can begin arguing. "He's going to kill you?" a simple statement, hardly a question.

His blood runs cold. That look on her face- she's seen something, something in his eyes. Perhaps his guard had fallen for a fraction of a second and she had glimpsed his innermost thoughts… she has seen his fear. She knows he's afraid. She _knows._ Shit.

So he calculates his words precisely so that he knows they will run a chill down her spine. "I wish."

And they do. Her eyes widen the smallest fraction and all the color runs out of her cheeks.

Fury sighs. "You know, Loki, I honestly hope you're not just toying with us. That would end badly—for you."

He smirks: "Because things are going so well for me, already."

"He's not playing games." Everyone turns and looks at Natasha. "He's telling the truth. Something is coming for him."

Fury gives her a long, level look, then turns and leaves, his coat fanning behind him. He slams the door—unlike Banner, he has no issue with doing so. Rogers gives him a cursory glance before following suit, without the slam.

It's just Natasha now. She resumes her seat in the room's sole chair and regards him silently. Normally he'd have preferred this, but now he's rankled.

"What did you see?" he snaps. This surprises her. He has never spoken without direct prompt before now.

"What did I…?" she frowns.

"What makes you so sure I'm telling the truth?"

She finally understands. "If you were lying, you'd seem happier about it." she smiles slightly. "You love lying. The truth seems to annoy you."

How does she have him figured out so thoroughly? He hates such perceptive humans. He sits back and glares, having nothing further to say.

"Does Thor know?"

"What?" this takes him by surprise. What does Thor have to do with this?

"Does Thor know anything about this?" she raises her eyebrows.

"Of course not." What an absurd thought.

"Don't you think he ought to know? He's your brother."

"He's not-" he pauses. The 'he's not my brother' argument went stale a while ago. "I see no reason why he needs to know."

"I do." Natasha's smile widens. "I'll tell him. He's supposed to get back from Asgard today."

_Bitch. _Thor will complicate things. Thor will want to help. Thor will _care._

"Don't you _dare._"

She winks and leaves.

**o.O.o**

He no longer bothers to smile at the cameras watching him. Let them see his annoyance. He doesn't—and never will—give a shit about their opinions of him.

**o.O.o**

Banner comes back to see him twelve hours later. He puts the delay down to it being the next day—there's a lack of windows in the room containing his cell, so he doesn't know, and doesn't particularly care. The list of things he cares about is thinning rather rapidly.

Banner seems perturbed. He paces around the small room for a bit, then sits uneasily in the chair, before getting up again and shifting back and forth on his feet, obviously ill at ease.

He realizes Banner is going to try for something more than small talk. How tedious.

"We could help you," he says after a few moments of awkward silence.

"Or you could save yourselves the trouble and throw yourselves off the helicarrier. It would be less messy." He is at his patience's end and has no intention of humoring Banner in any way.

Banner flinches. He immediately regrets his harsh words. Lashing out at the man is like kicking a puppy.

Banner recovers quickly. "We faced down your Chitauri… and that was an army. It sounds like this is just one guy. I'm sure we could—"

This was too much. "Thanos will tear your helicarrier to pieces, kill all of you, and most likely take a chunk out of the human population, _simply because they're there. _And he will do so—to coin a human phrase- without his morning coffee."

Banner remains unfazed. "Thanos? Is that his name?"

He sighs. "Yes."

"I haven't ever heard that name before."

"Unsurprising."

"You don't have to do this… alone," Banner is looking everywhere except his face.

This is different. He has brought death and destruction upon this world, and still there is a man who wants to help him. He expected, at the least, hatred and indifference. He was prepared to return the same. He has no idea what to do with _this._

Banner continues to steamroll along. "Listen, I know what it's like to… to… be ostracized and hated, to be considered a monster." He is making some progress toward achieving eye contact. "Thor told me—us—what happened to you in Asgard, and I know you're conflicted… I just don't want you to be alone." And, there it is, Banner locks gazes on his face, pleading with him through this visual connection.

He doesn't know what to think. On one hand he sees the laughable futility in this man thinking he has a _chance _of helping him, and on the other he is the slightest bit touched. But his face remains impassive, and he says nothing.

"Just think about it, alright?" Banner breaks eye contact, and turns and leaves quietly.

**o.O.o**

The resulting silence is stifling, and suddenly he feels his solitude extremely acutely. A small noise escapes his throat, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. Vulnerable. He is vulnerable. And now everyone can see it.

The threat has never felt so real before. His insides are tightening, and something is rising in his throat. His cell feels like it is getting smaller. The _world _feels like it is getting smaller, and it will be easier and easier for Thanos to find him because _there will be nothing else but him. _Him and this helicarrier, him and this cell—

He grips the thin cot like it's his lifeline. His control is slipping away faster than he can hold onto it. Banner is wrong, _wrong; _he is and always will be _alone. _

Always.

**o.O.o**

"_What have you done?_"

Thor is apoplectic; he seems almost ready to shatter the glass between the two of them and strangle his not-brother right there. "What have you brought upon yourself, Loki?"

The _not-brother _is unfazed. "He was the means, Thor. The means to my victory."

"At what cost?" Thor demands. "Why have you done this? You bring destruction not only upon yourself, but on _this entire realm!_"

He quirks an eyebrow. "That has never been a concern of mine."

Thor's brow furrows. He looks ready to launch into full god-of-thunder rage, but stops. He visibly tries to calm himself, and moves to stand closer to the glass. "You look terrible, brother."

This is unexpected, he wasn't anticipating brotherly concern. He thought they were past that.

"That should not be one of _your _concerns."

"It is, and always will be, one of my concerns." Thor puts his hand on the glass. "I came to plead with you, Loki. Let us help you."

He knows what he must look like. Pale, thin, forehead etched with worry lines that had not been there weeks ago. The clothes they had put him in look several sizes too big. He is wasting away.

Thor continues. "We have been discussing you most earnestly, brother. Most recently we have discussed your current predicament, and what it means for us and the realm."

He snorts. "Discussing is all the humans do."

"Listen, brother," Thor looks him directly in the eyes. "You revealing your situation changed everything. They no longer want you anywhere near Midgard and its inhabitants."

"This is unsurprising."

"You have unwittingly pushed them in favor of my plan. You will be accompanying me back to Asgard."

He says nothing. He knew all along that this would be the final verdict.

"I was as of yesterday in Asgard," Thor continues. "Odin has agreed to let you return. He will decide your final fate."

"I cannot wait." He is past caring what happens to him.

Thor sighs. "You brought this on yourself, brother. I hope you can fully grasp that."

Still he says nothing. He finds that he, the silver-tongued god, no longer has anything to say.

"If you can appeal to him," Thor tries to maintain eye contact, "then perhaps he and Asgard will help protect you, and you won't have to fear any longer."

This he cannot tolerate. "I don't need Odin's help," he snaps. "I am not _afraid._"

"Yes, you are," His not-brother gives him a knowing look. "You may claim that we are not, and have never been, brothers, but I still know you better than anyone." He turns to go. "You are terrified." The door shuts behind him.

**o.O.o**

Yes. He is terrified. Everyone, everyone can see it. And every one of them is going to die and _someday, he might, too. _

If he's terribly lucky.

**o.O.o**

His days have become documented by the people who visit him.

Tony Stark is the last visitor that night. The next day they will transport him to a new location: the place where the Tesseract will take him and Thor to Asgard.

He would admit that Stark is the last person he would expect to want to visit him.

Stark seems relaxed, taking his time meandering around the cell and pretending to survey the walls, as if he had all the time in the world. Pretentious bastard.

"The whole time," Stark says finally, giving him a critical look, "I thought you were acting all on your own. I knew you had to have come up with an army somehow, but I didn't really think about there being a price."

"Thor had to have told you why I needed the Tesseract."

"He did. I just had other things on my mind, most likely. And," something else must have occurred to him, "I didn't know you had been threatened."

"Is there a purpose to this conversation?"

"More or less. I wanted to tell you that I finally understand."

"Understand what?" he has no patience for meaningless riddles.

"Why you seemed to give up on everything when we defeated you."

He frowns. "What?"

"Well, the first time we capture you, it's like it's all a game to you. You were confident, suave, controlled, like you had it all in the bag. The difference here is that you don't seem to give a rat's ass about anything anymore. Like you know you're done for." He scratches the back of his neck. "You're not as unreadable as you probably think you are."

"I know." That _naked sword _is still _there. _He knows it's never, ever going to go away. He's resigned. "And you're right. I don't care anymore."

Stark is still giving him that critical look. "I sort of respected you. You tried your absolute damndest to win, but you always knew when to back off. You always had a plan. But I guess your plans have kind of run out, huh?"

He's silent. Stark will run out of steam eventually, and leave, just like all the others.

"I still do respect you," Stark smiles slightly. "Most people would be absolute wrecks by now, a threat like that hanging over them. You're only a sort-of wreck."

"_Thank _you," he replies snidely. "I do _so_ crave your respect, Tony Stark."

"Mm-hmm," Stark chuckles. "Well, it's been great. Nice saving the world from you. Good luck with… everything, I guess." He gives him a mock salute, and leaves, the door swinging heavily shut behind him.

**o.O.o**

In thirteen hours and five minutes, he will be on his way to Asgard. Odin will punish him, then he will pardon him, and then everyone will pat him on the back and promise to protect him. They will keep him at an arm's length. And every one of them will die.

Because every one of them will have the unfortunate luck to simply _be there _when _he _arrives.

He runs his fingers through his hair, pats his clothes, and tries not to breathe so heavily. Because there is nothing he can do anymore.

The naked sword is there, in his mind's eye. It catches the light from the single bulb in the room. What a beautiful thing it is. He laughs.

And suddenly he cannot stop laughing. It's so _funny. _Isn't it? It's unbelievably funny.

The guards watching him that night have the privilege of watching Loki Laufeyson descend, laughing, into madness.

**o.O.o**

**A/N: So how did you like it? Was it confusing? Did it flow nicely? What do you think about my writing? I was experimenting with present tense, because I think it's a cool way of writing. Please leave a review telling me what I may or may not be doing wrong, I would love that! **

**I am a huge Loki fan, but not in the way that I would want to go anywhere near him. The guy's a freaking psycho, he does not want to hug you, or make babies with you, _he does not like humans. _I love him because he's a cool villain.**

**NOTE: **

**_I am open to more one-shot ideas. _HOWEVER: I will not do _slash, _or _fluff_, or straight-out _ romance _of any sort, because I cannot stand writing about those things. I will do _humor, _possibly _crack _if I like the idea, drama, angst, or even general happiness. This is limited to the general Avengers fandom, and solely within what is represented in the movie.  
**

**Thanks for reading!**


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